


I Saw You, You Saw Me

by rusi (talkativeharmony)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: CanUkr - Freeform, F/M, Human AU, M/M, RusAme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkativeharmony/pseuds/rusi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a history teacher struggling to make ends meet with a sick twin. There's a science teacher that doesn't really like science at all with two sisters look after.</p><p>By the way, the history teacher hates the science teacher. [RusAme, slash. Side CanUkr. Human AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Day is Always the Hardest

You know, he had prepared for this day all yesterday, and somehow, he still managed to fuck it up.

That was, he knew, _not_ proper diction for a newly-acquired twentieth-century history teacher, but that was the least of his worries right now as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel, tapping impatiently. _Matchbox Twenty_ was playing lowly through the radios of his car, and he fought the instinct to reach for the volume and turn it up all the way, but held himself back from doing so. (“ _Alfred_ , blasting your music that loud can be dangerous-- did you not pay attention to the driver’s manual?” Psh, of course, he didn’t. He hated reading; the words eventually blurred and faded in his eyes until they became near incomprehensible- it was a surprise that he managed to keep his job and this car at all.)

He glared at the red light, and the red light glared back.

And as if relenting, it turned green.

Okay, maybe he had broken a few ( _a few?_ ) traffic laws while getting to his job, but who cared? As long as he could get to where he needed to be.

The car halted to a stop as he pushed on the brake. Alfred unbuckled his seatbelt, letting a quick breath of relief. Then, grabbing his phone, and his laptop case, (which held far more than just a laptop) he slammed the door with his hip and stopped at the door, opening it as best as he could manage. There were no buses here, of course- but he was late on _his own terms_ , if that made any sense... he wanted to get here ten minutes ago, set everything up, or whatever it was teachers did on their first days. In other words, Alfred was frantic. He wasn’t _extremely_ late- in fact, that was the _last_ thing on his mind at the moment- but he was just...nervous. Thoughts raced through his mind, every minute detail seemed to tug at his sleeves, coiling his uneasiness into a tighter knot inside his stomach. What if the students didn’t like him? From his perspective, it was dreadfully boring when teachers just stood at the front of the room and _preached_. What they needed to do was to _connect_ with their students- to get those who unwillingly came here to be actually _interested_ for at least forty minutes.

Alfred had figured that out three months ago. It was the first day of school, and he still had no idea how to carry this out.

Alfred’s father always told him that he was energetic; too much energy and imagination for his own good, to be honest. And he had always been that one kid who sat by the window and just- just stare, ignoring whatever the instructor was trying to drill into his head. (unless it was history or mythology, of course. Those things actually _intrigued_ him.) He would tap his pencil on the desk and... fall asleep... Yes, he was the epitome of a terrible student. And who would have imagined him to end up as a teacher? Of all the choices Alfred had, this particular job was the last of those he had ever dreamed of getting. 

It seemed that the only thing they ever cared about receiving the check in their hands at the end of the month.

Alfred...he...wouldn’t be like them, though. He was going to be exactly the opposite. Did he have an artfully contrived plan on how to achieve this seemingly impossible goal of his? Hell no. He would get there, though. He didn’t know how, but he was going to do it. There would be no dreamers, no sleepers in his class.

And just like that, when he broke off from his thoughts and returned to reality, he had arrived at his assigned classroom. He didn’t even remember getting there. The classroom was nothing special when he looked at it...not when he first got it, anyways. Thirty-two identical, brown desks, in four rows of eight. At the front, a large whiteboard (or, two whiteboards combined). In the back, a reflection of the front. If there was anything else to notice, one would comment on the brightness of the room, which was why Alfred loved it. He didn’t want a dungeon. To the left of the room, opposite of the door, two large windows with open shutters (which he would shut; no distractions in his classroom!), and a tall billboard in the middle. That was what it looked like when he had first gotten it. He had splurged as much money as he could on all that cliche stuff, though he would be lying if he said that some of the things were hard to acquire since they didn’t have anything to do with America. It was awkward to explain to the cashier why he was buying a lamented poster on Benito Mussolini or Nikita Khrushchev (especially the latter), or that he wanted to order certain flags for reference-- and dear God, some of those flags he might as well have crawled the world on his hands and knees to find-- so he had opted to buy online. This was twentieth-century history, not twentieth-century American history. So while there were a few pictures of Woodrow Wilson and FDR and the prominent figures everyone thinks of when someone says “1900s, America”, there were a collection of others, too.

The room was dreadfully quiet and Alfred decided to relax for a little bit. If anything, Alfred hated silence. Turning to the window, he stared at his own reflection, inspecting himself.

His dirty blond hair was slicked up in a small quiff, and he was wearing a black shirt with a red tie. Then, walking to the front of the room, he grabbed a green dry erase marker and wrote on the right corner of the board, “8 September 2014”. A little more to the left, on the first board, he was about to write-- but then faltered. Would the students dislike him if he made them work on something on the first day? He had decided early on to just have the first few days to be simple discussions. Not too much writing, no laborious note-taking. Alfred wanted to get to know about his students before he truly began to delve into teaching history.

With an encouraging nod of his own head, he listed: “Do Now:”-- (how he hated those words in high school, it made him laugh that he was now the one writing them)-- “ _Why is history important_?”

Then, on the far left, the words read: “Homework:”-- (the students would love him, that’s for sure) -- “ _Get supplies in by next Thursday_ ”. On the top: “Objectives: _To go home smarter than when you arrived_.” This probably wouldn’t change for the remainder of the year, unless he thought of something clever. He probably wouldn’t. He lacked creativity in that area.

Taking out his notebook, he weaved through the desks with a feigned confidence and traced an infamous quote about the war on the back from JFK in similarly rushed handwriting. He smiled to himself as he surveyed the room. Had he overdone it? He hoped not... a nervous tingle raced down his spine. Oh, God. They would think he was a _nerd_. Well, the students wouldn't be _wrong_  in that assumption, but--

“Mister Jones.”  
  
Alfred wheeled around. A lump formed in his throat. A familiar figure of about thirty stood by the door, one hand leaned against the frame with a bland look on his face. How long had he been standing there? He had seen this teacher before, Mr. Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov or something really _Russian_ that made his tongue twist (he felt a twinge of guilt that the other had known his name but Alfred did not know his)... the science teacher. He didn’t know much about him aside from the fact he was Russian and his first name was Ivan. And, following his father’s example, he tried to prevent himself from judging him. But, dear God, he was intimidating. And tall. He gave off this... _rich-person, snobby, elitist_ vibe. Maybe it was just ‘cause Alfred was poor as dirt, and anyone who could pull a Benjamin out of their wallet without the smallest scant of regret looked showy to him... it had taken weeks of Ramen noodles to be able to afford all the shit in his classroom. Forcing a smile that he didn’t quite put spirit into, Alfred placed the cap back on the marker and reached out behind him to put it back on the board. He missed. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter. And shit-- it sounded like a damned explosion in the silent classroom. “Uh... what’s up?”

And Alfred winced. God, he was so unprofessional. He bent down without effort to pick up the marker. Ivan’s eyes were careful and precise, seeming to study every movement Alfred made, every action his limbs took. It made another cold shiver crawl down his spine. However, (and thank god) Ivan’s attention seemed to shift elsewhere once Alfred rose again. Ivan's gaze seemed to be laughing at him.

“You are the new teacher, correct?”  
  
This guy probably didn’t talk too much. He was that kind of a person who liked to get to the point without any unnecessary prattling, the kind to despise small talks... must be fun at parties.

“As new as the, um...” Mr. Ivan Ivanovich quirked a brow, and Alfred could feel the intensity of his gaze. Okay, to be truthful, he was trying to make a history pun to show off his expertise-- but-- oh god, why of all times, why couldn’t he think of one? “Yeah. I’m new.”

Mr. Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov folded his hands behind his back and didn’t reply. Instead, he seemed fascinated and -- _was that surprise?_ \-- by the diversity of the posters in his room. And at that moment, Alfred decided that he did not like _Mr. Ivan Ivanovich_ very much. Alfred preferred fast conversations. Oh yeah, did he also mention how scary he was?

 _I wanna be him for Halloween._ Alfred thought, trying not to laugh. He always made himself crack up.

Mr. Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov strolled to the side of the room, where a poster of Josef Stalin with a blurb underneath resided. He rapped it softly with his finger. “Did you know his son, Vitali, replaced the entire hockey team after they died in a plane crash? He never noticed.” What Alfred did notice was the formation of a smile on the Russian’s face. The American frowned, however.

“Actually, his son’s name was Vasily.”

Mr. Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov seemed pleased. “I’m glad the board has elected a candidate that is suitable for the job.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. _Yeah, well. You can kindly piss off, pal._

He had to wonder, though... did everyone else think the same way Ivan did? It gnawed at his gut.

“Poor guy.” Despite Alfred’s sour opinion of the science teacher, his voice remained amiable. There was an odd noise from the science teacher. “I mean, his son. ‘Cause, you know. That guy was a little messed up in the noggin.”

"I agree," Ivan answered, calmly shifting his gaze back to him. 

 _Christ,_ thought Alfred again,  _this guy is fuckin' creepy as hell. I feel kinda bad for his students._

However, the blond smiled again. Honestly, he was itching for this guy to leave the room. It was like he brought a cloud with him wherever he went. Oh, and you can't forget the aristocratic, snobby attitude... it just all kept piling one on top of the other. He was trying to find some good things about this man, really, he was.

When Alfred snapped out of his stupor, he saw the science teacher lingering near the door. Maybe Ivan realized that Alfred wanted nothing to do with him. Or maybe it had to do with the bell that was going to ring in fifteen seconds. "The first day is always the hardest," he said. Craning his neck to look at the clock, Ivan added, “Good luck, Mister Jones.”

It sounded insulting. 

Alfred gritted his teeth. _I’ll show you. I’ll be the best damned history teacher you've ever seen._

The bell rang. Ivan left.


	2. Matthew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not the most descriptive with chapter titles (i prefer the writing part.)
> 
> sorry if there are any mistakes. i skimmed it like 40 times so hopefully i got everything :)

Alfred’s lunch period was fourth. He’d figured that whenever his students (freshmen) had their lunch, he did, too. And here he was, standing frozen and rooted in front of the teacher’s lounge. He backed away slowly, his heart fluttering in his chest like a caged bird. He didn’t want to impose.

Alfred would have gone in, _he would have_ , but the fact that Ivan was probably in there too… maybe they were just chatting and talking whatever teachers talked about.

Or _maybe_ they were talking about _him_. About how how clumsy and _unsuitable_ he was for this job, because he was like a teenager. And not all adult-like, like them. He wasn’t professional, he was just a guy that wanted to have fun. Maybe Mr. Braginskiy (he had managed to discover Mr. Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov’s name was Mr. Braginskiy.. what the _hell_ kinda name was that?) told the others about how he oh-so-gracefully dropped that marker like a fucking idiot when the board was right in front of him and they were all laughing as they dug their forks into their lunches or slurped up their coffee and--

Okay, the point was that he really didn’t want to see that guy again.

Alfred lingered for a bit more in front of the lounge, one hand nearly touching the doorknob to the room. Well, only for a couple seconds. The metal was a jarring contrast to the warm, summer air. In the end, Alfred released the knob and headed past the lunchroom, ignoring the bursts of laughter and the loud voices that carried down even to the furthest ends of the hallway. That’s how he ended up sitting on his wheely chair all alone on the first day of school, holed up in his room with a hamburger and some soda, feeling exhausted and like a rejected elementary-schooler. Honestly, he felt like a little kid who wanted to hang out with the big kids.

A sigh.

For a moment, he felt a scant of regret for his life choices, but then his mind wandered to the previous periods, and a small smile made its way onto his face. He had heard so many nightmare stories about teachers in middle, high school, that he almost expected the same thing- experienced it, even. So far, however, his day had went with by with few incidents, but nothing major; one kid kept falling asleep, and the other student kept stabbing people with a lead pencil. There was also a brunette who kept blurting inappropriate historical facts (that Alfred already knew) at the wrong time. Alfred loved history, but the history of Crayola crayons bored the shit out of him. And it was completely, completely irrelevant. How did fascism connect to Crayola crayons in _any way?!_

Frankly, it was annoying. All around, the kids seemed to like him... maybe it’s ‘cause he was practically a kid himself. He knew he could turn that weakness into an advantage in this case.

It was a weird contrast... being the one to stand up and teach, rather than vice versa. Even in the last few periods, Alfred quickly understood the frustration that every single teacher went through. He just hoped that the parents didn’t mimic the students’ attitudes...

Hopefully, though, he wouldn’t end up like the _sunshine-funshine_ in the room adjoined to his by the end of the year.

(That was the Russian guy.)

***

Alfred trudged up the stairs to his and his brother’s shitty apartment. _Clop. Clop._ A pause, then the _clinking_ of keys rustling together as he slid the key into the lock, and opened the wooden door.

“Matthew?”

Silence.

He must still be at work. Well, it wasn’t much of a job, in Alfred’s opinion. Matthew worked at the library.

Their apartment was not anything of uniqueness. Their living room was small, with a TV that looked like it jumped out of the eighties and a couch to match. Alfred only needed the bare minimum- when he was a child, he often convinced himself that he would be a professional athlete, with a hot pin-up lady for a wife and a sports car. When he turned fifteen, things started turning sour, so he was content with living in a small apartment all by himself-- maybe Matthew with him if he was lucky-- while all the other boys and girls sailed off to grab the stars. Matthew, however, wanted things to be nice and neat. That’s why on the dining room table lay a few pictures of their family. Father, and two sons.

His ten year old self would be very disappointed to find out that this is what he’d become. A _history teacher_ , without a single cent in his wallet, struggling to make ends meet and a sick twin as a bonus because whoever it was running the show up there hated him. He loved being a teacher, of course, don’t get him wrong.

Their living room led down the hall to the bathroom, and a small corridor with two doors that led to separate rooms. The parlor also gave way to a kitchen, an abrupt end of beige carpet and the beginning of dirty, stained tiles separated only by that ugly, dark yellow strip of metal (Alfred could never remember what it was called) that marked the threshold. There was a small table with a few chairs squeezed together, a stove, and a beat up microwave with a sink. They got rid of the dishwasher eons ago because it broke, and Alfred wanted to buy another one but Matthew insisted he not and that he would wash the dishes. Begrudgingly, he had agreed. There was a reason Alfred never let anyone over his apartment.

He was interrupted in his daydreaming by Matthew entering the house. His eyes turned towards him.

They had been twins. Matthew was born three minutes before Alfred. This was often a topic of heated debate between the two, who the oldest was. Even though they both knew it was Matthew.

Instinctively, Alfred stood up wearily and went to embrace his brother. Matthew smiled, a reflection of his own, but also different at the very same time. Matthew’s had a kind and gentle edge to it, almost timid, and when his eyes were reflected in the right way, they appeared almost violet. Alfred’s was triumphant, invited everyone to come talk to him, lit up the whole room like New York at night.

“Hey, Al, how was your first day?”  
  
Alfred shrugged. He didn’t care about that. “Dick Russian guy,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair, “the students are nice. Kinda.” He was more concerned with his brother.

Matthew had Addison’s disease- a disease where his body provides an insufficient amount of hormones by some sort of glands. Alfred wanted to understand it, but all the medical terms confused him; all he knew was that it was life-threatening if it wasn’t treated.

And perhaps, that could describe the despondency hidden beneath his blue irises whenever his twin was mentioned; he had been diagnosed a few years ago when they were in college. It had started out as nothing really that was a cause for concern; some weight loss, muscle weakness... nothing happened until Matthew had appendicitis, then things spiraled out of control. Something about an _Addisonian crisis_ and a lot of  _huge_ words Alfred fumbled to understand... he remembered it was Addison because it was like James Madison. Without the "M" and with two "d"'s instead of one. 

Maybe they weren't alike as much as he wanted to think.

He would give up everything in the world to cure his brother, but the medications he simply couldn’t afford and he was reminded of that every time Matthew put down his fork early or needed help getting up ‘cause he stood up too fast.

He didn’t want to think about that. He also didn’t want to burden Mattie with his worries, so he smiled when he pulled away and patted his shoulder.

“Want anything to eat?” he inquired.

Alfred earned a nod in response, but he figured Matthew was only saying that to make him feel better. He hated when he did that. He bit his tongue, not wanting to snap.   
  
“Okay... how was your day, then?” he tried again.

Matthew sat down on their couch and smiled again; that told him he was eager to speak. “There’s a new girl working there,” he said in his usual quiet voice, twirling a loose red thread on his jacket, and added, “she’s Russian, I think. Works as a page.”

The Russian part aroused Alfred’s interests. “Oh?”  
  
“Yep.” Matthew’s smile grew. “She’s a little clumsy... but she has a good heart. I can see it.”

Matthew was always good at telling that kind of stuff... Alfred wasn’t. His silence urged Matthew to continue.

“I talked to her for a bit-- she also has a little sister and a little brother. Her name is Yekaterina, by the way,” he said quickly, amazed he had forgotten something as simple as that. “She’s in her late twenties. Met her sister, too... she’s about eighteen, I think. She comes off as cold to me... she’s not mean, though. I guess guarded would be the right word. I think her name is Natalya.”

“Hm.” Alfred grunted, busying himself by preparing Matthew a small dinner. "Nice." The Russian part unsettled him. Not that there was anything wrong with Russians. He just really hated the one in school.

"She didn't tell me much about her family," the blond continued, "she mentioned that her brother was a teacher."

_Knew it._

Alfred turned around, his face smeared with disgust but his hand continued dutifully stirring the soup. “Don’t tell me. Her last name is Braginskiy.”

Matthew’s face fell. “Yes- no? I mean... well, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” He seemed embarrassed. “Why?”

A pause. Alfred continued to scowl.

“Oh... I didn’t meet her brother, but I’m guessing that--” Matthew started...  
  
“He works at the school.” Alfred finished for him. “Stay away from her, dude. That guy gives me weird vibes. I dunno about her, but...” He shuddered. “Ugh.”

Matthew was immediately on the defense. “Really, Alfred? You always judge people off the first encounter. How about you get to know him first before firing accusations like that?” he snapped. Alfred didn’t hold it against him. It was probably the illness. “You don’t even know this woman, either. That’s like saying you and I are the same because we come from the same family.”

The only sound was Alfred dropping the spoon into the bowl with a loud _clank._ He wondered if Matthew thought it was embarrassing to be related to him. Is that what he thought, really? That it was shameful to have Alfred Fitzroy Jones as a brother?

Then, the teacher muttered, “He doesn’t think I’m suitable to be a history teacher. I’unno about you... but that pissed me off. He even tested me, then was all like, ‘I’m glad someone picked someone suitable for the job’ or some shit like that.”

Matthew raised a brow.

“They were probably laughin’ at me, too... at lunch,” he sighed, “I never thought teachers would be as bitchy as students... I thought we were all supposed to get over this by now.” The American harrumphed.  _  
_

“You’re assuming.”

Alfred frowned. He probably was, but he wouldn’t let him know that... “Well, I’m not all fancy and professional like them. I think the students like me the best because I can actually relate to them.” He grinned snarkily.

“If you say so.” Matthew sighed.

As Alfred brought his twin’s soup out to him, Matthew had an idea.

“I think you should meet them over the weekend,” he said suddenly, smiling. “All three of them at the library on my break.”

The look of horror on Alfred’s face was priceless. Oh, God. Was he joking?

“No, I’m not joking,” the blond added, knowing what Alfred was thinking, “I think you should rid yourself of that prejudice you have going on there.” He remarked, snide. “I am sure... Ivan, is it? -- is not as bad as you think. Perhaps he was scared on the first day. Maybe the last history teacher wasn’t good at his or her job or something.”  
  
Alfred slid onto the couch and let out a loud sound that was a mix between a groan and a whine. “Matthew... _please_. I have to, um--” For the first time in his life, Alfred was out of excuses. There was a lot of "first times" today. He should keep track of 'em on a calendar.

Matthew waited, his one slim brow arched as he waited for Alfred's reply. 

"How come I have to go? Why don't you be all  _buddy-buddy_ with his family if they're all so great?" Alfred struggled not to snap. He didn't want to anger his brother, because he still  _loved_ him and he didn't want to irritate him, and he was probably overthinking what Matthew said before like he always does, that's him, tripping over everything and anxiously analyzing every word, every pause-- _  
_

"Relax. Listen, if you really don't want to go, fine. But I think you're just overreacting," interrupted Matthew. He was sort of passive-aggressive. He would let Alfred do what he wanted in the end, but he sure as hell would make his disappointment known. He must've gotten that from their father. He loved to do that, and the thing was that it always worked. This case wasn't an exception.

“Alright, fine, fine. For an _hour_.” Alfred gave in exasperatedly. “But if that guy acts like a borscht-covered dipshit, I’m haulin’ ass outta there.”

Matthew smiled. “It’s a deal.”

Alfred returned the smile with a smirk. "Good. Now eat that soup before I eat it for you." 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, first of all, i'm terribly sorry for the slow update and then giving you this chapter. for some reason, i spent the last few weeks just hunched over it because it did not seem right. eventually, i stopped revising and just decided to post it. it was just so freaking hard for me to write this chapter as it is a sort of "bridge" to the next one and the rest of the plot, and nothing really happens but it's necessary to have as it sets up everything else in future chapters.
> 
> i have most nuances of this fiction worked out by now, and it should be picking up speed and updates should be faster. and once again, unbeta'd. :( sorry, guys.

Day two. One hundred and seventy-eight to go. That means-- 9 periods in a day, 45 periods a week, 180 periods a month-- so 1,611 periods to go.

That’s a lot.

He wasn’t going to think about it that way. Days was fine.

Matthew left early for the library, a slightly dreadful reminder that he would have to face the piss filled matryoshka and his delightful family the next afternoon.

Nothing notable happened in the first few periods leading up to lunch. He was still getting to know his students, and tediously, at that; no matter how much training he had, there were still some things he had to learn on his own.

He had taken the job, however, knowing the risks. He wasn’t gonna back out now. It was only the second day, though... he had other things to focus on, anyway. He felt himself getting lonely from time to time. God, it felt like he was the awkward new kid.

At lunch, Alfred prepared himself for what he was about to do. He was going to make a new friend by the end of the day, he promised himself at least that much. Maybe he would stop by the library today to bring Matthew home, since the place was only a few blocks away, and Matthew preferred to walk, telling him that it would save gas and money... he didn’t really see the difference.

He shut the door behind him with his hip, laughing to himself. The room right next to his, though, was lit yet the door was shut, rejecting any visitors thinking of entering. Out of curiosity, Alfred poked his head through the small window, squinting through the thin frames of his glasses.

Ivan was sitting all alone behind his desk, twirling his fork round and round his plate repetitively. And the American perhaps just felt a _twinge_ of guilt for him. From deep within, he eyed the man with sympathy. Well, it wasn’t quite that he actually pitied the man, but it was just the way Ivan stared down at his food with such a look of disinterest, so much so that it reminded him of another who rarely ate, and was skinny as a twig. Hug him and you might cut yourself because he was was thin as paper.

 _No, he deserves it for being an asshole_ , Alfred thought with a frown. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he moved on and headed towards the lounge, his stride slowing down as he approached the room.

And his hand hovered over the doorknob. Just like yesterday. He rested his palm on the metal, curled his fingers around the circumference. A step forward. Now, just turn.. and push.

But he didn't. He was just... afraid. Terrified, even.

_Tomorrow, then._

He found himself turning his back to door and… back inside his room again. Why? What was wrong with him? His socializing skills were better than most, and yet...he couldn’t even walk into a damn room and chat it up like he was so used to. However, unlike yesterday, something nagged at his thoughts; the image of a certain Russian spinning his fork around his plate over and over, without an end, between his fingers. Alfred was aware that his conscience would probably disagree with abandoning the man like that, and that eventually had him stop, and pause by his room again.

 _He deserves it for being an asshole_ , he repeated to himself.

Really?

Nope.

 _No one deserves that. Okay, and he doesn’t deserve to be called a piss-filled matryoshka, either. Or a borscht-covered dipshit_.

He closed his eyes. That wasn’t right; his father would have shaken his head at him, maybe give him a light push and a nudge to encourage him to do the right thing. (And his father was renowned for his unquestionably good morality- Alfred often wondered whether it was because he was raised to be that way, or because he just had been around people who had done the opposite.)

The teacher cautiously gazed around the room, and concluded that yes, he was alone. This newfound revelation led him to believe that Ivan had not been in the teacher's lounge yesterday either.

It appeared Alfred was not the only one with this problem of avoidance of the teachers. It was as if he was a student again. _Ugh_.

He had been standing in the middle of the hallway for quite a while now, and Ivan still hadn't yet said anything or gave any inclination he was aware of Alfred's presence. Which was something he was indeed not very used to. (After all, no one ignored the golden boy Jones back in the days.) Maybe Ivan knew he was there, but was waiting for him to move on just as everyone else did. Like he had done earlier. The possibility of the thought and the man’s behavior had Alfred keenly interested- or was it that his father was pushing him into the room? Damn that old man.

The room was like this--a complete duplicate down to the inch, almost-- but instead of history, there was science. Chemistry. Things that left him reeling as soon as he glanced at them. There were leftover notes on the board written in green marker, sloppy smears where fingers lazily erased, and it was an odd contrast to the place which was so organized. Alfred smiled. The room just reeked of perfectionism and neatness. Reminded him of Matthew. His room, by comparison, seemed overcrowded with information at random. Ivan's seemed like he had planned out every centimeter, everything placed strategically. He suddenly felt very, very inferior. And dumb.

And surprisingly, Ivan was staring up at him, chewing, (so he _was_ eating) in that way that just spelled out "suspicion". One bushy brow was raised, and, eyeing him with apprehension, Ivan swallowed and tilted his head. “What do you want?”

The words held no venom. Alfred was startled, actually. He just sounded guarded, wary. Matthew might have been right and Alfred could have judged the other way too early. He felt another pang of guilt. Far back in the corner of his thoughts, he could hear his brother clicking his tongue in disappointment. _You shut up in there._

"Oh, um," he stuttered, realizing he had zoned out for a moment, "you seemed lonely for a little bit. So I thought I should come eat with you." He sat on one of the desks and unleashed the smile that people shielded their eyes to see. Nobody was as contradictory as Alfred. Calling someone a borscht-covered dipshit one day and befriending them the next.

Ivan seemed unsure how to react to this. He just stabbed the ends of the fork into his meat but not jamming it into his mouth like he expected to. _Very intimidating_. Only Ivan could make eating a piece of meat so terrifying. He didn’t know the guy that well, but he hoped he didn’t act that way around his students. And he wondered what that meat really was.

Alfred inhaled; he had to keep his rising annoyance in check. Matthew had better pay him back in double. He was doing this for him, after all. "Well, being alone isn't fun. So I'm here to change that." He kicked his feet childishly. “And you can’t tell me you’re not lonely in here. I was, too, yesterday.” He nervously chewed on his nails. “I mean, not in this room, but when I sat alone in mine, yeah.”

Still no response. Ivan was looking at him now, though. It encouraged him to go further.

"I heard that your sister works at the library. So does my brother," he pressed, trying to earn a response. He seemed so talkative earlier, why wasn't he saying anything now? "He's my twin. He was born three minutes and twenty-three point five seconds earlier than me." A pause. "Well, I made up the last part. But he was born three minutes before me."

Not even a smile? Damn, he lost his skill.

He tore open his lunch, bit into it. What else could he talk about? He had established that Ivan would not be replying any time soon. Something told him he was being ignored, but he didn't pay any mind to it. Ivan seemed very straightforward. If he didn't want him here, then he would sure as hell tell him.

He was trying, he really was. How was he supposed to communicate if Ivan wouldn't talk back?

"Matthew is planning something tomorrow. He wants me to meet your sisters since he thinks they're nice." This was his last try. "You coming?"

Ivan looked up at him, and nodded slowly, a bit curious about this. He wanted to know more.

“He says your sister’s very nice. He seems to like her a lot. He talked about her a lot yesterday,” he added after he swallowed. “And he wants me to meet her.”

“She is,” Ivan finally replied. “Hm... I will go for a little bit.”

Alfred smiled and found it came naturally. "Good. I need to make more friends in this town, anyway."

For the rest of the period, they both ate in silence.

***

After school, Alfred was whistling and humming and happily put his things away, answering any stragglers when they came into his room with questions about today's lesson or promising them a conversation tomorrow.

When he looked up as the sound of footfalls and yelling and chatter slowly died, the doorframe was empty. When he finished cleaning up, he looked up again, and Ivan was there; well, truthfully, he had just arrived and was walking in. Alfred straightened.

"What's up?" Alfred asked with a small smile. Ivan's suspicion still lingered in his mind.

Ivan seemed to get straight to the point. "Why did you come in earlier?" he asked. He didn't sound angry, irritated... just... confused. Genuinely.

"A lot of reasons actually," Alfred cleared his throat. He peered in the hallway to make sure no one was looking or eavesdropping. "I mean... well..." He faltered. He didn't know if he should tell him.

"My brother used to sit alone a lot and I hated it. So I guess it reminded me of him," Alfred finished, and thinned his lips. There were more than that--that brief look Ivan had on his face when he looked at the food-- but they were trivial, minute. They didn't matter, really. They had bugged him a little, that's all. Maybe a lot.

Ivan's eyebrows knitted together.

"And being alone isn't fun," he added, stretching.

"I see," Ivan finally replied. "You seemed irritated about me yesterday." He folded his arms and leaned on the doorframe, and even from Alfred's spot, he could see the specks of violet in his irises. So odd... how rare is that? he wondered. But Alfred was happy Ivan was finally saying something- that something that would be short lived, however.

"You kind of..." Alfred trailed off, grappling for the right word, "scared me. I thought maybe you thought I sucked or you were being sarcastic. Well, I'll have you know, I owned those classes, so worry about me not being suitable for this job. But if I'm not good in your eyes... then _So-vi-et_." Alfred grinned, splayed out his hands, and waited, an expectant look in his eyes.

Ivan's pale lips twitched.

 _Almost_. Then: _shit, man, what does it take for him to smile?_

"It's pronounced _Sah-viet_."

 _Come on! What the fuck? That was an old joke, but really? Not even a smile? Maybe he likes to smile at other peoples' pain_.

He would have to test that theory tomorrow. What would he have to do? Fall down? Break his nose? Bang his knee? Tear his ACL? Curse at him in Russian that was so terribly pronounced he would have no choice but to laugh?

He realized Ivan had said something.

"What?" Alfred stammered, embarrassed.

"It is not _Soh_ -viet. It is _Sah_ -viet,” Ivan repeated with such an enormous amount of patience Alfred wanted to punch him in the face.

Then he left... smirking. _That son of a bitch_.

Seething, Alfred turned to his board and angrily scribbled down a mental note.

_ Objectives: make that asshole smile.  _


	4. Chapter 4

So, this day started out really shitty. Which, to Alfred, was a big omen. Because when a day started out _bad_ , it usually only _got worse_. Firstly, he had forgotten to turn off his alarm clock, so he woke up at five thirty, flailing in the sheets until he had a beautiful epiphany: it was Saturday. With that euphoria that only came with waking up really early only to be able to go back to sleep, Alfred settled back down and planned-- _yes, planned_ \-- to go back to his dream of being an awesome baseball star and wooing the ladies. Except... he couldn’t go back to sleep. For an hour, Alfred just stared at the cruddy, patched up ceiling, willing for sleep to come.

 _“The human mind is an enigma.”_ He thought randomly thirty-two minutes after he had woken up.

Yeah, he needed to go back to sleep before he solved the Schroedinger equation.

For the duration of that hour, he flipped over his pillow, made his bed, and counted chicken nuggets in his head to try and calm his hyperactive mind. Which only succeeded in making him hungry.

The blue lights of his alarm clock dimmed in the light of dawn, and he glared at them. “It’s all your fault. It’s Saturday. _You’re not supposed to wake me up on Saturday_.”

And Alfred thought, _it couldn’t get any worse_.

And the universe said, _it sure as hell can_.

Seeing as he spent an entire hour doing nothing productive, he slipped out of the freshly-made bed and into the shower, avoiding the weak wooden boards in the hallway so he wouldn’t wake up his brother with its creaking. It was like Jesus himself was determined to make this day hell for putting his cat in the washing machine that one day when he was six, because _there was no friggin’ hot water_.

Grumpy and tired, Alfred showered quickly as the very essence of Siberia itself rained down on him and slunk down the hall and back to his room, trembling like a damp cat. And angry like one, too. He was gonna try and be positive, and said to himself, “It’s just a bad morning, today is gonna be a good day.” Because his brother said that you only get what you put out. And if he put out negativity, the universe was gonna spit out negativity because of karma or someshit.

So he closed his eyes and said to no one in particular, “Ivan, I’m sorry for calling you a borscht-covered douchebag, and for thinking that you’re an anal fishtaco. I’m sure you’re a nice guy.”   
  
Now that he had put an efficient amount of positivity into the atmosphere, he dressed himself for the occasion (meeting Ivan’s family, if you remember), dried and styled his hair, and then went to the kitchen, his stomach growling for food since he didn’t eat a good dinner yesterday.

The universe apparently didn’t appreciate his (somewhat sarcastic) apology, because he poured his cereal and there was no milk. You know, he just sat there for a little bit, feeling like crying. Maybe he would cry into his cereal and use his tears for milk. He sat in front of the television (on low, of course, he still didn’t want to wake up his twin), eating his cereal dry, wincing at every bite, but his stomach appreciated him putting some food in there, and he felt better and not as grumpy now that he had eaten. The sun was above the horizon now, and light poured in through their thin curtains in large squares.

A nice summary of the past three hours: no sleep, a cold shower, no milk. A shitty, shitty morning.

He heard a door open and soft footsteps down the hall, and Alfred set down his empty cereal bowl, looking up at Matthew.

Before Alfred could say anything, Matthew beat him to it, “You’re up early.”

Alfred harrumphed. “I am. You missed the entertaining recollection of my morning just now.”

Matthew quirked a brow, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes. “Oh?” he hummed, disappearing inside the kitchen and opening the refridgerator door, quiet.

“Yep. I think like, one of Ivan’s relatives is haunting me, because I woke up at five thirty and couldn’t go back to sleep, there was no warm water, and there’s no milk for my cereal.”  
  
Matthew straightened, staring at him. “So that’s why the water was running so early. Also, I believe you’re being a tad over-dramatic, Alfred.”

“Am not,” protested the twin, crossing his arms. “What other explanation is there?”  
  
“A severely coincidental pairing of events?”  
  
Alfred snorted, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “Screw you, buddy.”

“I might have to take a rain check on that.” Matthew replied as he poured himself a glass of orange juice in a red plastic cup, bringing it up to his lips. “Meeting today, remember?”

Alfred didn’t get it at first, but then he made a face. “Dude, that’s disgusting.”

Matthew snorted so hard that he almost choked, but he put the cup down and lapsed into silence after their exchange. Alfred was happy to see Matthew getting something to drink and eat without having him reminding him, and he began to think that maybe the universe had taken his half-assed apology seriously, and that this day couldn’t be that bad. He was lost in his thoughts when he heard a loud noise, like something falling, and then a muffled curse. Alfred lifted his head and looked over, seeing Matthew had spilled the orange juice and was in the process of cleaning it up.  
  
“Haha!” Alfred exclaimed, “the cycle of karma exacts its revenge!”

Matthew flipped him off but didn’t say anything else.

***

The ride to the library was fairly quiet, and Alfred found himself happy he could spend some time with Matthew, as well as the fact his brother didn’t have to walk to his job today. “You like your job?” he asked, glancing over at Matthew for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road.

“It’s nice,” Matthew answered, studying the side of Alfred’s face for a little while, saying nothing else.

“ _Just_ nice?” Alfred pressed, frowning. “Did something happen?”  
  
Matthew shook his head. “Nah. It’s real silent, and I like shelving books. The library is huge, it makes me happy that such a vast amount of information is accessible to the public for free.” He smiled softly, playing with the hem of his shirt. “And to see that so many people are taking advantage of it.”  
  
“Not free,” Alfred smirked, “our taxes.”  
  
“Oh, shut up.” Matthew punched his bicep playfully, but he smiled.   
  
Alfred and Matthew were not the type that say “I love you” to each other, but there were some moments when Alfred could just... _feel_ it. They didn’t have to say it. He was sure Matthew could, too.

This was one of those times. Earlier that morning, too.

“I told Yekaterina about your theory on rhombuses and parallelograms. Trapezoids, too.” Matthew changed the topic.

Alfred groaned. “I got over that in eighth grade!”

Matthew was the one to smirk that time, as he smugly said, “That you think they’re all just slanted squares?”  
  
“No, no- parallelograms are _slanted rectangles_ , rhombuses are slanted squares, and a trapezoid is a flat square. Oh, and rectangles are just two squares put together. If you’re gonna make fun of me, do it right,” Alfred snidely remarked. “It’s just a lot of squares. See why I became a history major?”

“Obviously. You would poison the youth of America with your ridiculous theories.”

“Did I tell you that I tried to solve the Schroedingers equation this morning? I was trying to bore myself to sleep by inserting myself into a high school physics class.” Alfred said.

Matthew was about to say more, but Alfred interrupted him as they approached the library, and he said, “Get out. I’ll take you to the ER if the road burn is really bad this time.”  
  
Matt laughed, but he opened the door and stepped out, entering the library. Alfred considered going back home until his brother’s break, but that seemed rude, and besides-- Matthew mentioned how it was a huge library... _surely_ there were some World War Two books in there. He knew a lot, but not everything. Plus, more interesting facts to share with his class on Monday, and he could look smart when Ivan came, halfway through a big book... yeah... he would be so shocked that he actually had the attention span to do such an amazing feat.

Wait, no. He didn’t give a shit whether Ivan thought he was smart or not.

Decision made, he parked his car and then defiantly crossed the road, hands shoved into his old bomber jacket pockets, following Matthew’s steps. He said he was shelving books, so--

He bumped into this woman at the desk, lost in thought as usual, and he excused himself, but then his eyes widened. But _holy shit_ , her breasts were _huge_. And not huge in the arousing way-- just, _holy shit that must be a lot of back pain_ way. Alfred tried to ignore the fact that he wasn't fawning over her chest like any other guy would, and instead smiled sheepishly and looked up to meet her gaze. She had short hair, almost like a pixie cut, and it was a very light blonde, and, as aforementioned... she was very busty.

“Oh- pardon me,” the huge breasted woman squeaked, embarrassed. “I don’t think I saw you, I am so sorry.” She nervously gnawed on his fingernails, but she caught a better look at him and narrowed her eyes curiously. “You look familiar... ah, Matthew’s twin! That’s right, that’s right-- oh, my, what’s your name? I apologize, I just cannot remember anything nowadays!”

Alfred was a bit overwhelmed at her cheerfulness, though it made him relax a little; her accent was cute, too. “Alfred’s my name, ma'am,” he said, grinning. “And he mentioned your name too. But it’s okay, I can’t remember it either.” Mainly because it was Russian. And we all know how much Alfred struggled with Russian.

“Yekaterina!” the woman pronounced easily in her native tongue. “But, ahm, you can just call me...” She trailed off. “Hm, I’ll think of something easier later. If you’re anything like Matyusha-- ah, I mean, Matthew-- you have trouble with it, too.”

Alfred imagined Matthew struggling to say Yekaterina’s name fluently, and it made him grin wider. More leverage to use against him later. The American tilted his head, exclaiming a “wait!” before she walked away. “Are you Ivan’s sister?”

She looked taken aback, but she smiled, though it was uneasy. “Yes... oh, what did Vanush’ka do this time?” She sighed, placing a hand over her face as if stressed.

“Nothing!” The thought of suddenly making this cheerful woman upset seemed unreal. “He just teaches at the school I do, that’s all.”  
  
Yekaterina made another sound, one of recognition. “Ah! You are the history teacher, correct?”

It seems Alfred was quite acquainted with this woman already...

“Yeah, I, um, am.”

“Mhmm, he has mentioned you, I think,” Yekaterina said, eyes far off, thoughtful. Alfred was suddenly nervous to find out what Ivan said about him to his sisters.

“Any idea you can tell me what he said?”   
  
“Hm... just that he thinks you’re interesting and cute.” She patted his head and then waltzed away before he could say anything else.

 _I’m interesting, huh,_ he thought. _Well... wait- cute?!_

Not even hot? Handsome? Attractive? _Just cute_?

He didn’t know if he was satisfied about that or not.

Alfred was glad she didn’t mention his theory about quadrilaterals, and since he was bored, he meandered over to the history section, then he looked at the big books with dismay and remembered: _he hated reading_. Depressed, he took out a book anyway about German aircraft (since he loved airplanes but he never really studied them that much in college) and sat down at an empty table, surrounded by empty tables. How sad. It was almost like he never left high school.  
  
Upon flipping through the book, he realized that there was a lot of pictures and diagrams, and while Alfred was not an expert in mathematics, when it was history, it made sense to him without so much confusion. The words were boring, though, so he just studied the pictures for a long while and sometimes read the captions if he was still lost.

He didn’t know how long it had been, since his face was buried in that book, and he was on page one hundred something, when someone sat down in front of him. He lifted his head and straightened all professional when he saw it was Ivan, and then went back to his book with a casual “hello”.

Yeah, hello, guy who thinks I’m cute, he huffed mentally, still uptight about that. Ivan didn’t look too happy without being acknowledged, so, without looking up from the book, he said, “You came.”

“I did.”

“How much did they pay you to come?”

Ivan didn’t seem to appreciate that comment, his face knotting up in a frown. “I came of my own free will.” He replied. He moved his head down, as if trying to see what he was reading. “Besides, my sister talks about your brother nonstop and I wanted to see him for myself. What are you reading about?”  
  
“The Messerschmitt BF 109.” Alfred replied nonchalantly, expectantly. Like everyone read about Messerschmitt BF 109s. He did. He didn’t think anyone else did, though. In fact, it looked like no one had picked up this book for two hundred years. “German aircraft during World War Two. One of the best during that time.”

Ivan tilted his head, and just stared at him, his chin resting on his fist. Alfred felt uneasy while they sat like that, Ivan just staring at him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The other didn’t move. One day, he was all rude and mean to him, the next, he was quiet, and now he is talkative? Was he always like this?

Suddenly, Ivan left. Alfred looked up, kind of surprised that he would just leave like that, without any sort of warning, and he returned to his book with a pout. A B-17 didn’t sound so interesting anymore now, and he put the heavy book back into its place, crossing his arms. Asshole. He just couldn’t figure him out! He was so unpredictable, it was more annoying than it was alluring. He eyed him with anger brewing in his eyes, sitting back in front of him and puffing his cheeks. Determined to piss him off and catch him off guard, he said, “I heard you think I’m cute.”  
  
Ivan froze, halfway through turning a page, but it was only for a second. Almost as if it didn’t happen, he finished turning the page and replied, “You believe everything you hear?”  
  
“When it comes from people’s sisters, yeah, I do.” Alfred wrinkled his nose and snorted. More weird feelings. He would set it aside for later.

Ivan muttered something under his breath, probably in Russian. He couldn’t come up with a retort for that, and Alfred could tell he felt more nervous under his gaze. “What’s your deal? I don’t get it. One day, you’re makin’ me feel all inferior and shit, and then you’re quiet the next, and now you’re talkative and it doesn’t make sense.”

Ivan said, “Artemis murdered Niobe’s six daughters. So much for the Virgin Goddess.”

_The fuck?_

“Yeah, and Hitler wanted to be a priest. Can you stop dodging my questions?” Alfred was getting more and more frustrated. Ivan just laughed, and went back to reading.

“You’re very hotheaded,” Ivan commented, not looking away from the book. He was one of those book nerds. “Be more patient.”  
  
The blond clenched his fists in his hair. It’s like this guy’s goal was to piss him off in every way possible. But they were in a library, and he couldn’t yell at him, so he just silently fumed instead, resting his head in his arms. He knew he shouldn’t have come-- screw the universe for making him apologize when he was exhausted and he just came out of a cold shower because right now, Ivan was a very big, very huge, anal fishtaco. Screw Matthew for insisting he get to know this guy better. For now, though, he decided to play along with Ivan’s little game, and didn’t say anything else.

After a long while, Alfred was beginning to fall asleep, and he was about to haul ass and drive home, when Ivan said softly, “Do you like astronomy?”  
  
At that, Alfred tilted his head and slipped his glasses back onto his face, feeling weary like you did when you were just about to fall asleep but were woken up. “Um... yeah. Mythology too. My dad used to tell me stories about them all the time before bed. Some about World War Two, too, which is why I like it so much. Not the gruesome ones, those could wait til I was older. I like Greek mythology.”  
  
“Hm.. why did you become a history teacher, then?” Ivan asked.

“I figured out that mythology wasn’t really real. As cool as it would be that there would be a god for everything, it just didn’t make sense, especially ‘cause my dad was Catholic and he didn’t want me believin’ anything else. Plus, there were actual pictures of history; people, planes, bombings and stuff,” he explained, it all coming out like a river. “For mythology, it was just a bunch of paintings... people could paint anything. You couldn’t really fake a photo back then, I mean, to my knowledge. I mean, you could play devil’s advocate and say anything before the camera isn’t real, but mythology... it just didn’t make sense.” He shrugged.

Ivan seemed to be taking mental notes, a bookmark inserted a quarter way through his novel. “I see.”

Maybe he should get to know Ivan, too. Was he judging him too harshly? “And why did you become a science teacher if you like astronomy and mythology?”  
  
“Astronomy is a sub-category of science,” Ivan said smartly.  
  
“Screw you, you know what I meant.”

“Chemistry,” he corrected calmly, “I discovered mythology by looking in the library when I was smaller. I was very fascinated by the stories, though I knew they weren’t real. When I was in high school, though, I moved on from it because I liked learning about chemical bonds, ions, atoms... there was just a mysterious beauty about it. It is strange how the universe has the same pattern. Electrons ‘orbit’ around a nucleus, planets orbit around the sun, galaxies orbit around other galaxies... universes orbit universes. Who is to say we are not just some atom in another world, and it just keeps going? When my teacher first told me that, I knew that chemistry was something I wanted to pursue.”

Alfred felt smart that he was actually following him, but he was left reeling by his last statement. This discussion seemed best when it was over wine. “I... never thought about that before,” he admitted. He didn’t like being that small and unimportant. It just made everything seem... worthless. “Well, if I find out when I die that I was inside some atom that was on someone’s toilet seat, I’m gonna be extremely pissed off. Like, shit, man...” He realized his pun. “I mean, no pun intended.”

“Everyone thinks when I say that that I am just crazy or messed up... however, even if it were true, don’t feel bad. Because if we did happen to live in an atom on someone’s sweater, that person would probably live inside an atom, too, so they would just be as small as you and I.”

“But they’d still be bigger than me. Their atoms would be bigger than the atom I live in-- holy shit, no. I’ve thought too deep today. Soon enough I’m gonna be solving quantum physics.” Alfred raked a hand through his hair.

“Why do you say that?” Ivan leaned forward on the table, interest flashing in his eyes, suddenly invested in their conversation. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “Don’t you like thinking about that? It makes you feel smart, in a way.” His eyelids fell halfway though he did not smile. “That you share thoughts with other philosophers. Even so, that atom theory is just that, a theory. It most likely isn’t true. However, it is a big coincidence that everything orbits something--”  
  
“Stop,” Alfred put up a hand, “This is too confusing. That’s why I like history. It’s only complicated unless you make it complicated. Also, I don’t orbit anything.”  
  
The corner of his lip twitched, but still no smile. “Mm, maybe not physically.”

_What does that mean?_

“And have you forgotten the Roanoke colony?”

“No, no, no, we don’t talk about that. Also, I am a twentieth-century major. Go talk to the guy across the hall, he likes that stuff.” Alfred leaned back and sighed. “He’ll talk your ear off.”  
  
“This coming from you? He must give you a run for your money,” Ivan said coolly, looking at his nails.

Alfred would’ve flipped him off, but that didn’t seem appropriate, and he wasn’t a friend... but he was okay. When he wasn’t being sarcastic or condescending. Alfred surmised it was a Russian thing. They didn’t smile, after all. In fact, even though he had been rather open this entire conversation, he did not smile once, or give any indication of his emotions. It was like the more Alfred showed his emotions, the more that Ivan receded into this shell. He was trying to get him, trying to befriend him.. what was he doing wrong? Was he still showing some hint of hostility?

Ivan pulled up his sleeve and stared at his watch. “I have to go,” he said, bringing the book with him. Did he say something? Or did he actually have to go?  
  
Alfred didn’t want to be alone, sitting here all by himself again. He was just beginning to actually like him. _A little bit._

Not like he thought of him as a friend or anything, hell no.

Too bad Alfred didn’t realize that Ivan was just as lonely as he was.

***  
  


“I saw you two chatting,” Matthew looked to him with a knowing grin on the way home.

“If you could call it that,” Alfred scoffed. “Well, it was a chat, but... he seemed... I don’t know. Just. Weird. It was like when I smiled, he just became more... guarded.” He remembered his brother saying the same thing about Ivan’s supposed younger sister who apparently wasn’t there because she was sick. Alfred had a hunch that she didn’t come simply because she didn’t want to.

“I think it’s his culture,” his brother said, looking out the window. “Russians are aloof. They view people who are open and who smile in public as something to avoid. I just don’t think he’s used to your straightforwardness.”

“Yekaterina isn’t like that,” Alfred said immediately, jealous that Ivan’s sister was so open with his brother. “Is it... is it just me? Okay, I called him a double deckered bitchlamp but that was once in my head like thirteen hours ago. I also apologized to the universe and hoped I would get brownie points for that. But he can’t read minds... unless he can. Russians are creepy.”

Matthew glared at him. “When did you become so prejudiced? I know that’s not how we were raised.” Even though Matthew didn’t say it, the unspoken statement lingered between them: _you sound like our mother_.

Alfred deflated. “I just don’t know, okay?” he said, agitated. “There are more people in the world than just him, you know. I don’t have to like him.” His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his muscles coiled. “Maybe we just are opposites. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal to you.”   
  
“ _Because_ you can’t keep judging people off the first word that comes out of their mouth,” Matthew exclaimed, “that’s what I’m trying to tell you! You’ve missed so many opportunities in your life because you avoid people like the plague when they’ve wronged you once. People have bad days. You’ve been forgiven for snapping at people when you’re in a bad mood. Like now. Even if you two don’t end up as friends, I want you to be more open-minded. ”   
  
There had to be more of a reason than that. What could it be? Why did Matthew care if he liked one person out of seven billion in the world? Even if he asked, he seemed to be hiding it from him. At a stoplight, he rested his forehead on the wheel, feeling the engine purring and vibrating his skull. It was quiet for a long time, the radio playing calmly in the background on low, unaware of the tension between the twins.

“I did get to know him a little bit, though,” he finally said softly. “It’s the first time he was willing to actually hold a conversation.”  
  
“It’s green,” Matthew grumbled since Alfred was still hunched over, and he complied and pressed on the gas pedal. “Or maybe it’s the first time you’ve noticed.”   
  
Alfred knew why Matthew was moody, and he wasn’t going to pin the blame on him. It was just the disease.

Or he could just be genuinely mad at him. That was also a logical explanation. He still didn’t blame him, though. As they drove by a restaurant, Alfred saw a family walking in, laughing and smiling as the light threw shadows across their faces. He felt a twinge of jealousy, glaring ahead at nothing, lips pulled taut into a scowl.

If only he could do the same with Matthew.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred sighed. The week had been stressful for the both of them. He knew if he didn’t apologize now, his brother would be upset for the rest of the night. He opened his mouth to explain, but he didn’t want to worry Matthew or maybe even make him more upset.

When they arrived home, they sat in the car for a little while, even as the lights dimmed and left them in the dark. Then Alfred leaned over and gave Matthew an unexpected, tight embrace. In the awkward positioning, Matthew couldn’t hug back, so he rubbed his shoulder instead.

Ever since he was five, his father always told him this: _don’t go to bed angry_. When you wake up, that person might be gone, and the last memory you’ll have is of your argument, and you realize how dumb and petty it was. And then it’ll torture you for the rest of your life, and you’ll weep on your knees and beg for forgiveness.

After his hug, he pulled away and offered a grim smile, and waited til Matthew left the car before he followed.  
  
“Can we have pork tonight?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vanush'ka is also a diminutive of ivan. similar to vanya.


End file.
